


Invisible Pull

by Schattengestalt



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Crime Scenes, Eventual Happy Ending, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insecure Sherlock, M/M, Pining John, References to Depression, Relationship Negotiation, Sleeping Together, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-04-22 00:43:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14297058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattengestalt/pseuds/Schattengestalt
Summary: The sharp tug in his chest woke John with a start. There was a red string. A red string that started somewhere around the area of his heart and led away from him... or rather towards someone else.John has never expected to find his soulmate, but he is eager to meet them when the chance presents itself. Only, he isn't prepared for the revelation that awaits him at the other end of hissoul string.





	1. Strings

**Author's Note:**

> I have already finished this story so you don't need to worry that it will stay a WIP, but I can't say when I will be able to post the next chapter. My beta reader is still going through the rest of the story and I am also very busy with university at the moment. I will try to post as often as possible though.
> 
> And before you start to wonder this story has a Happy Ending. I swear it!
> 
> Big thanks go to **Tstui1gos** who is an amazing beta reader. Thanks for your help, dear. :)

### Strings

 

The sharp tug in his chest woke John with a start.

 

Memories of gunshots and blood slowly faded before his eyes as he stared into the darkness of his room. That was right, John assured himself as he took a slow breath to calm down, he was back in London. There was no war here. No wounded soldiers and no desert. No one was going to shoot him or ask him to perform an amputation on a boy that was barely old enough to grow a beard.

 

John smiled grimly as memories of his service in Afghanistan flickered through his mind. He had spent his first tour at a First Aid station, close to the front. It had been hell. John couldn't remember a night or day when they hadn't operated on some wounded soldiers while under fire. Still, he doubted that he had ever performed better in surgery than while not only fearing for his patients lives but his own as well. That was, until he had ended up under the knife of a fellow doctor. 

 

John rubbed his chest absentmindedly. He had been lucky, the bullet had passed through his shoulder without injuring any nerves. Nevertheless it had been touch and go for a few days according to the other doctors. In the end though John had survived without any lasting damage and while others would have accepted a ticket back home after such an injury, he had stayed.

 

John shook his head in fond memory as he recalled Harry's exasperated voice over the phone. She had wanted him to come back home and John hadn't found the right words to tell her why he needed to stay. There was no way to describe to her how he thrived on the adrenalin whenever he fought for a patient's life in the warzone. She would have believed him to have some kind of god complex and John hadn't wanted to argue about it at the time. Harry had only been appeased when he had informed her that he wouldn't be stationed directly at the front anymore but at a MASH unit. 

 

John snorted into the darkness of his small bedroom and leaned back against the wall. Everyone had believed that he would work in a safer environment this time and he hadn't doubted it either. Not until the bullet of a sniper had torn through his left shoulder... again. This time John hadn't been as lucky and after suffering from infection and hovering between life and death for weeks, he had been sent home. Honorably discharged, not that he could buy himself anything with that.

 

John's lips pulled up into a grim smile and he rubbed his chest again which felt a little sore. And wouldn't that be ironic if he were to suffer from some sort of complications when he was alone for the first time in months?! He had spent days at the field hospital then weeks at a bigger hospital in some city. John only remembered snippets of both stays. He had been out of it for most of the time. His body fighting its own personal war against the raging infection in his shoulder. After he had survived - which had been termed a miracle by his doctors - John had been sent to rehab before being shipped home two months ago. Why he had believed it a good idea to stay with Harry for some time, John couldn't say anymore. Maybe he hadn't wanted to be alone and his sister had also been sober for a year. Therefore he hadn't seen any problems with kipping in her guest room. Somehow John had apparently forgotten how they managed to argue about everything even when they were both sober. If it hadn't been for Clara, John would never have survived two months with his sister. As it was, he had packed his things as soon as he had found a bedsit in London and... here he was.

 

John grimaced into the dark room as his chest gave another throb. It would be his luck to have to check into yet another hospital after less than 24 hours in London. With a sigh John finally switched on the lamp on his nightstand and froze as he stared down at his chest. There was a red string. A red string that started somewhere around the area of his heart and led away from him... or rather towards someone else.

 

John squeezed his eyes shut in disbelief and pinched himself before he stared back down at his own chest once more. The red string was still there and pulling rather insistently at his heart. John shook his head even as he got up to get dressed, glancing down at the string every now and then to check if it was still there. He had never believed he'd belong to the lucky ones who experienced the forming of a soul string. Of course he had hoped - like most people - that one day a red string would form and lead him to his soulmate. Nevertheless John had been aware of how slim the chances for that to happen were. No matter that soulmates found each other in every second novel, it very rarely happened in real life. Scientists had only started to examine the phenomena about a hundred years ago. At the turn of the century reports of soul strings had increased, although they had probably been around since the beginning of time. Since no one but the respective soulmates could see their own strings it was hard to conduct a survey. And while this meant that most of the inner workings of the soul strings were still unsolved, scientists had come to a consensus on some things.

 

Firstly, that a soul string would tug at the hearts of both soulmates until they finally met. It was one of the reasons why John decided against shaving as he grabbed his keys and hurried out of his bedsit. He really didn't fancy having his soulmate knock at his door when he was living like this. No he would rather crash into them in the streets as they both hurried to follow the tug of the string. John had treated a couple once that had run head first into each other because they had been so eager to meet. They both came out of it with matching scars at their hair lines. A small chuckle escaped John's lips at the memory. It was another thing that scientists agreed on: soulmates didn't know where their strings would lead them. They felt the pull in a certain direction and then it was like a scavenger hunt until they found their soulmate... or not.

 

John marched to the next tube station and prayed that his soulmate wouldn't be too far away or else he would have to live on stale toast for the rest of the month. Unfortunately John could only be sure that his soulmate was in a 100 miles radius from him. Which might mean as close as the next tube station or as far away as Calais. Somehow - John had forgotten the details - scientists had figured out that a soul string would only form if the soulmates were somewhere in a 100 miles radius from each other. Following this theory two people could be soulmates without ever meeting each other because they lived too far away for the soul strings to form. It wasn't a surprise that after this theory had been published, people took to travelling more. Especially students - fresh from school or university - decided to take a gap year and travel the world in the hope of finding their soulmate. Most came back with a lot of new experiences but without their soulmates. Which wasn't surprising since they might have either missed each other or they just hadn't been ready to meet their soulmates. The discovery that soulmates had to be emotionally ready for their match had been made purely by accident. Two people had been living next to each other since the day they had been born but only when they had both been in their forties had a string formed between them. A fact that complicated the search for one's soulmate even further and also why John had never tried to find them. The odds hadn't been in his favor and neither had he had the money to travel the world instead of working. Nevertheless, John couldn't hold back his excitement now as he boarded the tube. He only hoped that he wouldn't have to drive too far before meeting his soulmate... and that he would really meet them.

 

John sat down on an empty seat and bit nervously on his lower lip. It wasn't uncommon that a soul string would only lead a person to a place where their soulmate had left a trace before they had left the radius. Scientists were still arguing about said trace. Some claimed that it had to be the last place where the person had been and others said that it was the place where someone had felt a strong emotional impulse. Considering that most dead ends were either airports, harbors or train stations both theories sounded logical. At least to John, who had only picked them up in passing without giving them much more thought.

 

The string pulled more insistently at his chest as they got closer to their next stop and John regretted that he hadn't shown more interest in soulmate studies. He didn't even know if they had finally figured out how long it took a string to form until the soulmates noticed it. Nor was he aware if the pull of the string felt different if it led someone directly to his soulmate or only to a leftover trace. If John had known the answers to these questions, he certainly wouldn't have felt so nervous as he exited the Plaistow tube station and followed the pull down the street.

 

This part of London was completely new to John. Of course he was aware that he was in the eastern part of the city but that didn't give him any idea where he was going. His only hope was that his soulmate would have a better knowledge of the place or John doubted that he would make it back to the tube station. Especially with so few people wandering the streets at this time of night that John could ask for directions.. His musings came to an abrupt halt as he almost collided with a wall.

 

John glanced up and felt the blood freeze in his veins. He wasn't an expert and he might be wrong - God, he hoped he was wrong - but the wall appeared to surround a cemetery. His heart pounded heavily against its ribcage as he rounded the wall until he came upon a sign. East London Cemetery & Crematorium it read and unease settled in the pit of his stomach but he tried to ignore the feeling. There was no use in getting himself all worked up over where he was going to meet his soulmate. A cemetery certainly was a nicer place than most clubs at this time of night.

 

Squaring his shoulders, John marched along the wall to find a way inside while trying to calm his nerves further at the same time. He had never heard of someone being led to the grave of their soulmate so the person he was looking for probably had their reasons for being in a cemetery, in the middle of the night. A reason other than being dead.

 

After walking for about five minutes John was finally lucky enough to find a tree growing next to the wall. Some cursing and embarrassing attempts at climbing later, he found himself on the other side of the wall. The string pulled harder at him and John barely thought of turning on the flashlight of his phone before he followed a path between tombstones. New looking tombstones, so his soulmate probably wasn't a nutcase who was searching for vampires from the 19th century. That was something at least. 

 

John couldn't say how long he had been walking when he finally realised that he was there. It was like a pulse running through the string that signaled John that he had reached his destination. Holding his breath, he shone the light of his phone around, following the red string to... a tombstone.

 

"No," John whispered in disbelief as he looked around wildly, certain that there was a mistake, that someone had to be here. Someone who was breathing and alive and not buried six feet in the ground. But there was no one there. Just the tombstone that had a red string slung around its cold marble. Their soul string.

 

John's legs buckled and he sank to his knees as he kept on staring at the tombstone. Here he had dared to believe that something good was finally happening to him. That after enduring pain and loneliness, Fate had decided to smile down upon him. But if she had smiled then only in mockery. A cold grave with his soulmate in it. This had to be the most terrible meeting of soulmates that had ever taken place on this earth.

 

The cold seeped through John's clothes and clutched at his skin, but he ignored the shudders that wrecked his body as he kept on staring at the grave. He should have known that nothing good could ever come of him meeting his soulmate. Watsons weren't destined to meet their one true match. At best they managed to live together with someone without killing each other and at worst... A while ago John would have said that Harry driving away the woman she loved with her drinking was the worst a Watson could experience, but now... he doubted it. What was worse than being led to a grave by your soul string?! What was the use of it?! He would have certainly been better off not knowing that his soulmate was dead. Or at least the soulmate that he was emotionally ready for at this point in time. Some people believed that every person had more than one potential soulmate they could meet in their lifetime.

 

The thought did nothing to squash the growing loneliness and despair that was trying to swallow John whole. Even if he had another soulmate, how likely was it that he would ever meet them? His chances had already been close to nil this time around and now... "Get a grip, Watson!" A commanding voice that sounded like his officer ordered him. "Until today you hadn't even hoped to find your soulmate. They are dead, so nothing has changed."

 

"But it has," John whispered to the ground. Everything had changed, because now he knew. Besides if death hadn't severed the string then it would always stay with him. Invisible to others and - after the first meeting had taken place - not tugging at him anymore but nonetheless existent. There to remind him what he could have had if only... John closed his eyes against the burning sensation of tears and swallowed a few times before he dared to open them again. It was no use crying over lost potential, he had learned that lesson early in life.

 

"But maybe it's fine to cry for someone who has died?" John nodded at the internal question. Yes, if he was despairing here, he should at least learn the name of the person he had lost.

 

Sherlock Holmes

 

John's gaze wandered over the strange name and then flickered to the dates. 31 years old. His soulmate had been three years younger than him and had died about two months ago. Two months. John choked on a breath as he realised what that meant. If he hadn't stayed with his sister. If he had come to London right away then he might have met this man. His soulmate. He might have even have been able to save him depending on how he had died. Guilt settled on top of the despair and John wished that he hadn't left his gun in the bedsit. It would have been easy to escape from the pain with only one bullet. One bullet was all it would take to reunite him with Sherlock. One bullet and...

 

"Stop it!" John was surprised at how raspy his own voice sounded, but the words managed to tear through the dark fog in his head. There was no evidence that he would ever meet his soulmate in death. Of course there were religious groups that believed just that, but John was skeptical. There were too many unknown factors to make such a statement. Still if he couldn't be with his soulmate while alive and death probably wouldn't bring them together either, what was there left for him to do? Especially now that he had broken into a cemetery - with no way out - which wouldn't open until ten in the morning?!

 

John glanced at his phone. Still five hours to go until he could try to sneak out of the main gate. On the plus side though, his phone was still at ninety percent. His eyes flickered to the letters on the tombstone once more and before he could second guess himself, he had entered the name into the online search engine. It was an unusual name and John had hopes of finding out something about his late soulmate, hopes which were amply fulfilled.. The site showed thousands of matches and it took John three articles in the The Times to realise that they were all talking about the same man. The newest one talked about investigating the accusations that had been made against Sherlock Holmes before he had jumped off the roof of St.Bart's.

 

"Suicide," John murmured in disbelief. Somehow he had assumed that his soulmate had died differently. Cancer or a car crash. Something that no one could control, but if he had killed himself than this was different. It meant... John wasn't so sure what exactly it meant but he vowed to find out for himself.

 

The sun rose and crawled across the sky as a new day started but John didn't pay it any mind. His eyes were glued to the screen of his phone as he searched for the oldest articles that mentioned Sherlock Holmes and worked his way up from there. Slowly a picture of the man started to form in John's mind as he read about all the cases Sherlock had solved or helped to solve. He had been some kind of consulting detective. The only one in the world, as he had stated in one interview... or rather growled at the journalist if she was to be believed.

 

"Mad... but brilliant," John whispered in awe as he searched through Sherlock's own blog. The Science of Deduction. It seemed to be utter nonsense, but combined with the other news reports John dared to believe that Sherlock had been able to deduce the life of someone by only looking at how they combed their hair.

 

There were also pictures of Sherlock online and John laughed at one in which he wore a deerstalker before his fingers touched the prominent cheekbones on the screen. His soulmate hadn't only been brilliant but beautiful as well. A rare, wonderful creature and John prepared himself mentally for learning why such a man had killed himself. Nonetheless it was harder than he had expected to read about the accusations against his late soulmate. The journalists had started to attack him right after Sherlock had accused a James Moriarty of being a criminal mastermind. They had painted the consulting detective in the darkest colors when they had praised his every step mere weeks earlier. Sherlock had been accused of staging all the crimes he had solved himself. That he wasn't brilliant but only a fraud who had hired Moriarty to play his enemy. A month ago - a month after Sherlock had killed himself - the articles had still been in consensus that Sherlock had been fake and killed himself because he didn't want to take responsibility for his crimes. After that the tone of the articles changed. There were speculations that Sherlock had been the victim of a conspiracy and had in fact been the genius he had claimed to be. Investigations were launched as some people tried to clear his name. Private clients of his as far as John understood it. He didn't know if it was only because Sherlock had been his soulmate but John couldn't believe that he had been anything but innocent. The press was fast to turn on someone they had worshipped before without considering the consequences of their actions. At least, the journalists who had written most of the condemning articles had apparently been of such a mindset.

 

Anger pushed most of his other emotions away and John clenched his hands. This brilliant, beautiful man - his soulmate - could still have been alive if only people had believed in him.  
John wondered if there hadn't been anyone who had stood by Sherlock's side as his life had crumpled to pieces all around him. Had there been friends who had tried to comfort him or had he been all alone in the end? Had he been as lonely as John and was that why they had been destined to be together? Because they were both alone in this world and had been broken by it?

 

John was startled out of his musings by the voices of people that came from the main path some feet away. He glanced at his phone. It was already past ten o'clock. Time had flown by as he had read about his soulmate. Slowly John struggled to his feet and placed a hand on the tombstone in a silent goodbye before he started on his way home. His feet grew heavier with every step away from his soulmate. The string a painful reminder of what he had lost without experiencing it in the first place.


	2. Life without You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to get this chapter out faster than I thought possible and I wouldn't have been able to do that without the help of my wonderful beta-reader **Tstui1gos**. A big "Thank you!" goes to her.  
>  I can't promise when I will post next though. It might take a few weeks or maybe less than that, but I can't promise anything. Enjoy this chapter for now! :)

### Life without You

"John? John Watson?" John turned around at the voice calling his name and frowned at the grinning man before his mind placed him.

 

"Mike," he greeted him in surprise and accepted the offered hand of his old friend. Mike Stamford and he had gone to medical school together before John had joined the army. They had written back and forth a few times but then they had lost touch. John's eyes roamed over Mike's round form and his red face. His friend had always been on the heavier side but he appeared to have gained even more weight since John had last seen him.

 

"How long has it been? Ten years?"

 

"Give or take." John nodded and wondered at the same time how fast he could leave without appearing unfriendly. He didn't feel like socializing with Mike and sharing small-talk when he still felt terribly raw from last night's revelations. 

 

"What brings you to Bart's? The last time I heard you were in Afghanistan getting shot at, what happened?"

 

"I got shot," John replied bitterly. He had hoped this would bring their conversation to an end but Mike only nodded in understanding and then gripped John's elbow to steer him in the direction of a small coffee shop.

 

"It's my lunch break so we have some time to catch up." John opened his mouth to protest but closed it again when he saw the hopeful look on Mike's face. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to be and if he went back to his bedsit the lure of his gun would only become stronger.

 

He allowed his friend to steer him to a secluded table in a corner and nodded to the waitress. "A coffee, please."

 

"Make it two and two of your famous chicken sandwiches."

 

"Mike," John started, intending to tell his friend that he didn't have the money to eat out but Mike waved his protests away.

 

"It's on me, John. And now tell me what are you doing in London?"

 

John shrugged. "Nothing much. I got discharged from the army after I was shot the second time. I stayed with Harry for two months and now I'm back here, but I don't know how long I can stay in London."

 

Mike nodded in understanding and waited until they had been served before he replied. "The city gets more expensive every year. Why don't you move to the country?"

 

"I can't really see myself as a country doctor." In fact, he couldn't see himself as anything right now. Even breathing seemed pointless, but John would be damned if he told Mike about his struggles.

 

"No, that doesn't really fit you although I would never have seen myself as an instructor at Bart's either and now here I am." John smiled politely and took a bite of his sandwich to avoid having to reply. Mike didn't seem to notice as he continued to chatter. "I always pictured you as a surgeon and not a doctor in some small surgery. Of course, you were a surgeon when you were with the army and..."

 

"What?" John raised an eyebrow at his friend as a curious look flickered over his face. Mike had been famous for flashes of inspiration back in his university days. They hadn't always been brilliant but certainly entertaining enough.

 

"I just thought that the free position of trauma surgeon at Bart's would be perfect for you but you probably already know of that."

 

John frowned slightly. "Why should I know of it?"

 

Now it was Mike's turn to raise an eyebrow at him. "Why else would you be at Bart's if not to look for a job? Don't tell me you were just wallowing in old memories."

 

"In a way," John forced out and smiled politely as Mike guffawed at it. He pressed his hand to his chest where his string started and thought of the black tombstone with the strange name on it, Sherlock Holmes. John had only come to Bart's to see the place where his soulmate had killed himself but he wasn't going to share this information with Mike. 

 

"Honestly though, if you are interested I can put in a good word for you. Your qualifications are certainly good enough and the job should be exciting enough even for a former army doctor like you. Even though you will miss out on the excitement of treating Sherlock after he has gotten himself into trouble."

 

John's head jerked up at that. "Sherlock? You mean Sherlock Holmes? Did you know him?"  
If John's sudden interest in Sherlock surprised Mike he didn't show it but only nodded. a thoughtful expression on his face. "Sherlock came to Bart's as a patient numerous times over the years and he also stopped by quite often if he didn't need medical attention. You could either find him doing experiments at the labs or looking at bodies in the morgue. I wouldn't go so far as to say that we were friends but I liked him. He was... authentic. Mad like a hatter but as brilliant as they come." A small sad smile flickered over Mike's features. "I would never have thought that he would kill himself. He was often annoyed by others but... I always felt that he loved to live. Whenever he was focused on solving one of his mysteries, he was so bright... like a raging fire. Of course, those are the ones that burn out the fastest."

 

John clenched his hands around his mug to stop them from trembling as he gulped down the hot brew. It was different to hear Mike talk about Sherlock from reading the articles online. He felt closer to his late soulmate after his friend's description of him and yet... even farther away from him. It hurt to know that Mike had known Sherlock better than John ever would. That Mike had known Sherlock at all, full stop. Nevertheless the knowledge that his soulmate had enjoyed his life and had spent countless hours at Bart's made John decide.

 

"I would really like to take the job at Bart's if you think it will suit me."

 

Mike only blinked once in confusion at the abrupt change of topic but then nodded with a contented smile. "I will talk with the personal manager right after my break. You better get your application documents in order, John. I'm sure the job will be perfect for you."

 

John only smiled at Mike's eagerness. The pain in his chest was still raw and the thought of his gun still appealing, but John felt a tiny flicker of hope at the prospect of working at a place where Sherlock had apparently spent hours. He didn't know if it would be enough to diminish the longing for a bullet forever but it might work for now. And that was a better prospect than John had had this morning.

 

"Thanks, Mike."

 

"You're welcome," his friend replied without knowing how deep John's gratitude ran.

 

OOO

 

"Great work, Watson."

 

John nodded at his colleague as he leaned back against his locker. "Thanks, Jones. You weren't so bad yourself."

 

The doctor replied with a laugh to his teasing words and John forced a smile onto his face. It wasn't that he didn't like his colleague but that he found it hard to joke around with him... or with anyone for that matter. It hadn't always been like this. In fact John had been well known for his sense of humor in medical school and also in the army. Nevermind that his jokes had turned darker in his army days but some dry remark had always been on the tip of John's tongue. Not anymore though.

 

John kept his lips upturned until Jones bid him goodbye and left the room before he slumped against his locker. He was tired. Exhausted, really. And it wasn't even the kind of exhaustion that came from working two twelve hours shifts with only a two hours break between them. Nor was it the kind of exhaustion that came from being in the operating theatre for five hours straight to stitch a kid back together after his motorcycle had lost the fight against a car. No, this exhaustion was something else. It lingered in John's bones when he dragged himself to work and it weighted on his mind when he lay down in bed at night. It stayed with him when he stared into the mirror and it reared its ugly head when he touched his string. It only went away when he held a scalpel in his hand. His head was clear, his hands steady and his mind focused whenever John found himself fighting for the lives of his patients. One reason why he had worked at least three dozen double shifts since he had started working at Bart's six months ago. Overall this was still considered normal for a trauma surgeon although most doctors didn't volunteer for as many hours as John did. When the head physician had asked him about it, John had made it sound like he needed the money after having been discharged from the army.

 

It hadn't been a lie - not exactly - but John had still strayed further from the truth than he had liked. While he had struggled to pay his way around London when he had first come back, his wages were enough to afford a comfortable living. John had moved from his bedsit to a two-room apartment and while it wasn't anything fancy, it was much nicer - less depressing - than his former accommodations. Even with the high rental prices in London John didn't need as many extra shifts as he took to pay the bills. Nevertheless it was better to let the head physician - and everyone else who wondered about it - believe that John needed the money than for them to find out the truth. It certainly wouldn't be well received by staff and patients if they knew that he needed to work till he was dead on his feet or else the temptation of his gun would be too great to withstand.

 

A sigh echoed through the locker room as John gathered his things and mentally prepared himself for twenty-four hours of nothing to do as he headed towards the exit of the hospital. Usually a doctor would get off work for longer than that after he had worked as long as John had. It was only because the hospital was short on surgeons that John had gotten so lucky as to be expected back at work so soon. Still though John didn't know how to spend the next twenty-four hours when he had nothing to occupy his mind with. Of course he needed to go shopping for groceries and his body was screaming for some hours of sleep but that wouldn't keep him busy for a whole day.

 

John frowned slightly and nodded mechanically at the nurse at the reception before he headed outside. A breeze that carried the remaining warmth of the summer greeted him and John took a second to appreciate the fresh air. Maybe, he would go for a walk tomorrow. It was still warm at the start of September and some exercise would do him good.

 

"You will only end up at his grave, again," a nasty voice whispered in John's head and his hand flew to his chest of its own accord as he rubbed the place where his string started. He had been to Sherlock's grave a few times since he had first found out about his soulmate more than six months ago.

 

"A few times?! More like two dozen times."

 

John ground his teeth against the mocking in his own head. A weekly visit to the grave of one's soulmate didn't sound excessive to him.

 

"A soulmate you don't even know. A soulmate you haven't told anyone about."

 

And who should he tell, John wondered tiredly as he dragged his feet in the direction of the next tube station. He had spent a few lunch breaks with Mike but he didn't feel comfortable telling him about his special connection to Sherlock Holmes. John didn't fancy seeing pity in his eyes not now that his friend believed that John's life was getting better. And in all honesty, his life should have gotten better after he had gotten this new job and the new apartment. John should have started making friends at the hospital and going out with them in his free time. Failing that, he should have taken up a hobby. His therapist had suggested boxing but John had declined with a reference to his shoulder.

 

Honestly though, his scarred shoulder wouldn't have stopped him from joining a book or chess club or even a gym. The truth was that John didn't feel like being around other people when he didn't have to. He made an exception for his therapist because it had become routine to go see her once a week, but for no one else. Maybe she would have been able to help him if John had only told her what was really troubling him. If he just opened his damned mouth and told her all about waking up to the pull of his string only to be led to a grave. But then he would also have to tell her that he thought of joining his soulmate every so often. No matter that he didn't really believe in some kind of afterlife. She might not even section him - John wasn't even sure if she had the power to do that - but he didn't want to see her looking disappointedly at him. After all Ella believed that he was doing better and was only holding back from meeting new people because of his trust issues. At least that was what John had gathered from her notes.

 

A bitter chuckle fell from his lips as he crossed the street and turned to descend the steps to the tube station when a young woman stepped in front of him. "Doctor Watson?"

 

John raised an eyebrow at her. She was smartly dressed in a black skirt, a white blouse and a black jacket. Her hair was styled in a fancy looking swept-up hairdo and her makeup looked like it had been done by a professional. All in all she wasn't the kind of woman that would usually approach John.

 

"What is it?" John knew that the smart thing to do would have been to walk away. It certainly felt too similar to a scene from an action thriller to mean anything good. Still if John had always done the smart thing he wouldn't be where he was now.

 

"My boss would like to meet you."

 

John's eyebrow rose even higher. "Your boss? Who...?"

 

"It's not important now. You will learn everything soon enough. Please, get in." A black limousine pulled up at the kerb and John could only shake his head in disbelief as the woman opened the door for him. Definitely too much like a scene in an action movie. Next thing John would find himself with a bullet in his forehead because of a mix-up with someone else, he joked internally and got into the car.

 

They moved fast through the London traffic - too fast. John leaned back in the leather seat and crossed his arms over his chest. He was almost certain that the traffic lights always turned green as soon as the limousine got close to them. It wasn't normal. It spoke of power and danger and John felt an excited thrill ran down his spine. This certainly beat cleaning his gun and playing around with the ammunition until his eyes fell shut.

 

"Where are we going?" John didn't expect a reply from his companion. The woman hadn't looked up from her phone once since they had driven off. But it felt strange to sit here in silence when he didn't even know how long it was until they would arrive.

 

"We will be there soon."

 

John rolled his eyes. "Has your boss written the script himself or has he watched too many action movies?" The lips of the woman didn't even twitch and John sighed. "At least tell me your name. After all, you know mine."

 

With a thoughtful look in her eyes, the woman nodded once. "Anthea."

 

"Only for today or is it the name of the week?" The remark brought him at least a small smile and John decided to be content with that little success. 

 

True to her word they only drove for another ten minutes before they stopped in front of a warehouse and John was ushered outside. "Please, this way."

 

John snorted as he looked up the front of the building. Really this felt more like an action movie than the latest James Bond. It was only a shame that he didn't have his gun with him or else he would have felt like the hero in a Hollywood movie. One of the stupid heroes that didn't run away when they realised that they had gotten themselves into a dangerous situation. Nonetheless, John mused with a grin as he entered the warehouse, even the stupid heroes always won so he couldn't be doing too badly.

 

His steps led him into a high-ceiling hall and he almost laughed out loud when he noticed the man standing in the middle of it. Whatever was going on here, it obviously involved a man in a three piece suit who was twirling an umbrella in his hand. 

 

John barely managed to keep a straight face as he stepped up to the man and held out his hand. No need to be impolite when he didn't even know what was going on. Besides even if this was only a joke or a mix-up, John hadn't felt so alive in months.

 

"Doctor Watson." The man shook his hand even as his cold, grey eyes swept over John's form before they widened minutely. "You don't appear to be afraid."

 

John shrugged even as a small shiver ran down his spine as he found himself under the scrutiny of the stranger's eyes. "You don't seem very dangerous." And he didn't, not at first glance. John was sure that he could take the man on in a fight just like he knew that he could never win against him. There were men moving all around them in the shadows. Bodyguards or assassins, John wasn't so sure that it wasn't all the same thing in this case. They were professionals and if John hadn't looked for them, they would have escaped his notice. And yet, he still didn't feel afraid.

 

"You are either very stupid or very brave, Doctor Watson." The man tapped the tip of his umbrella against the floor as his eyes swept once more over John. "Or maybe it's something else entirely. Your therapist seems to think that you are over the worst but I think that you are just a good actor."

 

"Well, thank you." John met the man's slightly annoyed look with a tight smile. Whatever this man wanted John wouldn't rise to the bait. So this guy knew what Ella thought about him. Fine, it only proved that he held the kind of power that allowed him to manipulate traffic lights in London during the rush hour. 

 

"What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

 

John's heart jumped at the question but he forced himself to remain outwardly calm. Not that he believed he'd be able to fool the man with the piercing grey eyes but he certainly wouldn't give him the satisfaction of appearing rattled. "I don't have any."

 

John had read enough about Sherlock's cases in the last few months to know that his soulmate must have had a lot of enemies. Obviously one of them had noticed John's interest in the dead detective. One of the guys with a lot of power and influence. 

 

John crossed his arms behind his back lest he touched his string to calm his nerves. If he hadn't even told Mike about his dead soulmate he certainly wouldn't give anything away to this man.

 

"I'm aware of that. You have never met Sherlock Holmes and yet you bring flowers to his grave every week. Why?" Grey eyes bored into his but John refused to look away as he shrugged as disinterestedly as possible. 

 

"It's something to do."

 

In a way that was true. When John visited Sherlock's grave he didn't feel like blowing his brains out anymore. No he felt... calm was probably the right word to describe the feeling. Maybe it was because the two ends of the string were as close as was possible in these moments. Whatever the reason John craved the time at his soulmate's grave but he certainly wasn't going to disclose such information to umbrella-guy.

 

"One might think that you have enough to do with your busy work-schedule. What brings a discharged army doctor turned trauma surgeon to the grave of a man he has never met?"

 

"The tube?!"

 

"I'm warning you, Doctor Watson," the man growled quietly at his reply and John sighed. The guy didn't have the tiniest sense of humor. "If I want to I can make sure that you never work as a doctor again."

 

John flinched at the threat. If he couldn't work anymore he would be alone with his thoughts 24/7. There would be nothing but darkness and longing. A longing that could never be fulfilled while he was still alive - and probably not even in death. Regardless of that dark outlook John couldn't find it in himself to disclose his biggest secret to this man. Not even if it meant that he would find himself without a job and homeless in a matter of months. 

 

"Sorry, I still can't help you." John congratulated himself on how steady his voice sounded although he was screaming inside. If all else failed he still had his gun waiting for him at home.

 

The lips of the man thinned as he regarded John pensively before he nodded shortly. "Very well then, Doctor Watson, you can go. Just remember that I will be watching you."

 

John frowned as umbrella-guy turned around and walked off into the shadows. That was it?! First he brought him to an empty warehouse to threaten him and then he just walked away without telling John if he was really going to destroy his existence. But maybe this was part of the game, leaving John in fear of what was to happen to him next. John sighed and turned to leave the warehouse. There was nothing for him to do but to wait and see if the strange man would make good on his threat. Until then he still had groceries to shop for and flowers to bring to a grave. 

 

"Violets," John decided as he stepped outside and was surprised to find the limousine waiting for him. Somehow he had expected to be left to his own devices.

 

"Could you please stop at a flower shop on the way back?" John didn't get a reply from the driver - Anthea wasn't in the car with him this time. He didn't feel overly surprised though when they indeed stopped at a flower shop before he was driven back to his flat. 

 

He noticed that the CCTV cameras were tracking his every step for the next few days. One always seemed to point at him no matter where he went. If John set out to visit Sherlock's grave he found every camera zoom in on him. It was crazy - and a little scary - but he didn't tell anyone about it. Who would have believed him that some crazy guy was using state resources to trail the steps of a simple trauma surgeon and ex-army doctor?! Besides John would have to tell people about his literal connection with Sherlock for the story to make any sense and he still wasn't ready for that. He would never be ready. This was one secret that John intended to take to the grave with him. No matter if he ended up in one in a month or in fifty years from now.

 

OOO

 

John woke with a start and gasped for breath as he sat up in bed. Disoriented he stared at the clock on the nightstand but it was only ten in the evening. He still had six solid hours of sleep ahead of him before his alarm would wake him to get ready for work. So this couldn't have been what had woken him. John also couldn't remember any nightmares and while that in itself didn't have to mean anything he also didn't feel like he had had one. His bedclothes weren't tangled as if he had fought with them. His shirt and shorts weren't glued to his body by sweat and his heart rate seemed normal, too.

 

Maybe something had happened outside. Slowly John pulled back the curtains to look out the window but all was quiet in the neighborhood. Not even any drunks in sight that might have caused a racket.

 

John winked once at the CCTV camera that pointed at his window before he closed the curtains again. Umbrella-guy hadn't followed through on his threat yet and John doubted that anything would come of it now after almost five months. He hadn't even gotten visit on the anniversary of Sherlock's death. Though that didn't mean that the cameras hadn't followed him as he had brought a heart-shaped bouquet of roses to the grave. They always followed him but John had stopped caring soon after the surveillance had started. If this guy wanted to watch him go to Bart's and go grocery shopping then John only pitied him a little as he didn't seem to have anything better to do with his life. Not that John was one to judge.

 

A dry chuckle escaped his lips and John pondered getting something to drink or going back to bed directly when he felt it again: A tug at his chest. He blinked in confusion and turned the light on before he stared down at his chest. The soul string was still there but instead of just hanging loosely between John and his dead soulmate, it was pulled tight.

 

John gulped some much needed air and forced his hands not to shake as he reached for his shoes. There had to be a logical explanation for this. The simplest one was that the string wasn't the same one that connected him to Sherlock. Maybe it had been torn when another potential soulmate had entered his radius.

 

John almost refused the pull as that explanation came into his mind. He didn't want to be severed from Sherlock. If it was so easy to exchange one soulmate for another than John's pain would have been for naught. All the flowers and the time spent at Sherlock's grave wouldn't mean anything if they could be cast aside like this.

 

"Idiot, they mean as much or as little as you want them to mean." For once the voice in his mind calmed him down and John managed to finish dressing without suffering a panic attack. He grabbed his wallet, keys and phone and only hesitated a second before he packed his gun as well. This time around he wanted to be prepared for everything. With a tight nod to himself John hurried out onto the street and hailed a taxi.

 

"Where to, mate?"

 

The cabbie looked expectantly at him, but John only shrugged as he took his place on the backseat. "Just drive down the street and I will let you know when to turn."

 

"Ah, you are one of the lucky ones." The cabbie grinned at him in the back mirror but thankfully didn't add anything else as he pulled out into traffic.

 

"Turn left," John ordered almost too late as he felt the pull in his chest. The tug was less intense than the last time and therefore harder to interpret. John only hoped that this didn't mean that his soulmate was somewhere other than in London. He didn't have the nerve to drive through a huge part of the country only to meet up with someone whom he wasn't even sure he wanted to meet. The thought appeared a little unfair to his yet unknown - second - soulmate but John couldn't help how he felt. He couldn't just cut the connection he had built to Sherlock like it was obviously possible with strings. His thoughts came to an abrupt halt as he felt a more insistent tug at his chest. He was almost there.

 

"Stop here. I will walk the last part."

 

"Afraid to miss them, aren't you?" The cabbie winked at John as he accepted the money from him. "Good luck, mate."

 

"Thanks," John muttered as the taxi drove off and then started to walk down the street. This time there didn't appear to be a cemetery anywhere. Instead he found himself heading down a still busy street towards an Italian restaurant. At least he would get something good to eat if this meeting turned out be a disaster.

 

John was so fixated on reaching the restaurant that he did not notice the man until he collided with him.

 

"Whew, sorry."

 

John steadied himself on the man's forearms just as his string gave a contented throb. Although he wasn't an expert on soulmates John knew what it meant as he followed the line of the red string to the chest of the man in front of him. He gulped and then steeled himself as he looked up at the man.

 

It was like seeing a ghost. Curly hair and sharp cheekbones. Pale skin and piercing blue eyes. Full lips and a cute cupids bow. John would have recognized this face anywhere. He had looked at dozens of pictures of the man and yet he had been sure he'd never see him in flesh and blood.

 

"Oh my God."

 

His voice seemed to come from far away as a static noise filled his head and black spots started to dance in his vision. John only hoped that Sherlock knew something about first aid as his knees buckled and he sunk into darkness.


	3. Initial Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter than the last one but I hope you can forgive that. ;) 
> 
> As always my thanks go to my brilliant beta-reader **Tstui1gos**. "Thank you so much for all the work you put in each chapter!"

### Initial Contact 

John came back to himself slowly. It felt like walking through thick mud as his mind fought its way back to awareness. The first thing to register were the sounds. Cars passing by somewhere in the streets and... violin music.

 

John frowned slightly but kept his eyes closed as he tried to remember what had happened. He had fainted. Of that he was certain but he couldn't recall what had caused his mind to shut down like this. Had he overworked himself at the hospital? But no, John had never allowed himself to work until he was completely exhausted. Not because he cared so much about his own wellbeing but rather because he cared about his patients. No one wanted to be cut open by an overtired surgeon. So what... And then it came back to him in a rush: The pull of his string. The cab ride through London. The Italian restaurant and... Sherlock. John sat up with a gasp and the world spun around him at the sudden change in position.

 

"Careful, Doctor. Losing consciousness should be limited to once a day."

 

The low baritone made John's heart jump in his chest and he looked up to meet the amused eyes of the speaker. They were even more unique than they appeared in all the pictures. The color of the irises changed from a calm grey to a deep blue as Sherlock tilted his head to the side and the light hit them from a different angle. And dear God, this was really Sherlock!

 

John took a shaking breath and released it slowly before his head got a chance to start spinning again. Here he had believed that his string would lead him to another soulmate and yet it had brought him to Sherlock. A man John had believed to be dead for over a year. Someone who had been even further out of his reach than a member of the royal family and now he was standing there in flesh and blood. Breathing and alive.

 

John couldn't help but stare. It was probably considered rude to let his eyes wander over Sherlock's body but he couldn't help himself. His gaze jumped from his face to the tight shirt that was hugging his frame and to the dark trousers that clung to Sherlock's legs as he sat perched on the coffee table. God but he was even more attractive than in any of the pictures. And yet even better, he was alive. John couldn't help but come back to the most obvious fact.  
Yet, it might be obvious that Sherlock was alive but it wasn't a given. Only a few hours ago John had believed him to be dead after all and... how was it possible that he was alive at all?

 

Slowly more questions started to tumble into John's mind as he tried - and failed - to make sense of everything. He didn't even know where he was, John realised as he allowed his eyes to move away from Sherlock and to look at his surroundings instead. Judging from the low coffee table and the couch on which John was seated, he was in the living-room of a flat. A flat somewhere in London. A flat with a violin stand at the window and a skull on the mantelpiece. John shook his head slowly as everything made less sense with each new discovery and he decided to just go ahead and ask.

 

"How did you know that I am a doctor?"

 

Sherlock's eyebrows rose and John cursed himself inwardly. There were so many questions he could - and should - ask and yet he came up with the least important thing. He opened his mouth to take the question back, but Sherlock was faster. "The scent of antibacterial disinfectant clings to your hair and clothes. Also your fingernails are trimmed and you obviously take good care of your hands. While this could also mean that you are a hospital nurse your ID says otherwise, Doctor Watson."

 

"Brilliant."

 

The word fell from John's lips before he could hold it back, but he didn't regret his outburst as Sherlock's face lit up at the praise. "Do you think so, Doctor?"

 

"Yes and it's John to you."

 

"Sherlock."

 

Goosebumps rose all over John's body as he shook Sherlock's hand. If this was a dream then John didn't want to wake up.

 

"I assume you have questions."

 

John nodded and forced himself not to follow the movement of Sherlock's lips with his eyes as he fought to bring his thoughts into some semblance of order. "Where am I?"

 

"221B Baker Street."

 

Central London then like John had assumed but it was good to know for sure. Still...

 

"How did I get here? You didn't carry me the whole way, did you?" The idea sent a hot wave of mortification through John but a shake of the head calmed him down again. That was, until Sherlock started to explain.

 

"We were lucky that we met so close to Angelo's \- the Italian restaurant. Angelo is the owner and an old friend. He helped me carry you to his car and he drove us to my flat... and helped me carry you up the stairs."

 

"You could have just tried to bring me back to consciousness," John muttered quietly as his face burned with embarrassment. There couldn't be much worse first meetings between soulmates than for one of them to faint.

 

"Except if one of them is dead... or appears to be dead," a small voice in his head reminded him and brought John to the most important question of all. "How come you aren't dead? I mean - don't get me wrong - I am happy that you are alive, but how is that possible?"

 

Sherlock nodded slowly, his ever changing eyes fixed on John. "So, you have been back in London long enough to hear about my presumed demise. Injured in action." Sherlock's eyes flickered to John's shoulder. "I assumed that you were with the military of course, but..."

 

"Now, hold on!" John massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "What do you mean, you assumed that I was with the military? And how do you know about my shoulder? You are right of course but I... just don't understand."

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes as if to say that explaining his deductions was beneath him but that he would make an exception for John. "As for your injury you moved your left shoulder more carefully when you moved on the couch. An old injury then, seeing as you don't appear to be wounded right now. Combine that with the fact that you carried a gun with you and that the soulmate string led me to the airport when it formed for the first time and..."

 

"Wait!" John knew that it had to be annoying for Sherlock to be interrupted so often, but he had to make sure that he understood everything. "When did your string form?"

 

"25 months ago, give or take a few days."

 

"Two years ago," John echoed in disbelief as he worried his lower lip with his teeth. "I was shipped out to Afghanistan around that time for my second tour. I guess I must have left a trace behind when I bid farewell to my friends."

 

Sherlock nodded impatiently at John's summary. "That's what I thought. Well, either that or that you had moved countries. What is it?"

 

John shook his head at Sherlock's question as sharp eyes bore into his, probably in reaction to the way he had scrunched up his face. "I only find it strange that both of our strings formed when the other wasn't even in the radius at the time." 

 

John attempted a small smile but it slipped when he noticed Sherlock's shocked face. His wide eyes and opened mouth would have been comical if John hadn't felt out of his depth already.

 

"Sherlock?"

 

"Your string... it didn't form today. You... of course, you have been home for longer than just one day. You wouldn't work as a surgeon at a hospital if today had been your first day back to London. I already deduced that and yet I didn't make the connection... Stupid."

 

John watched silently as Sherlock muttered to himself, his words underlined by harsh gestures with his hands now and then until he fell silent and his gaze returned to fix John once more. "When did your string form?"

 

"On my first day - or rather night - back in London, thirteen months ago. I... the string led me to your grave." John swallowed against the lump that formed in his throat at the memory. "It seems even stranger now that I ended up there when you weren't even... why didn't it lead me to - I don't know - an airport?"

 

A sigh fell from Sherlock's lips as he got up and moved to stand in front of the window. No words were forthcoming as Sherlock appeared to stare at the street below and John fidgeted nervously on the couch. He didn't know what he had said to trigger such a reaction but he was ready to apologize nonetheless when Sherlock found his words again. "I went to my own funeral and... I must have left a trace then. I am sorry. It must have been a shock for you to have the string lead you to a grave."

 

Sherlock still had his back turned to the room and John was grateful for that. This way Sherlock didn't get to witness the complicated mixture of emotions that flickered over John's face at the memory of this fateful night. If the string had only led him to an airport or a train station, John wouldn't have despaired... at least not right away. He would have waited for his soulmate to come back but he would have slowly given up as more and more months went by. There wouldn't have been a reason for him to go to Bart's and therefore he wouldn't have met Mike. And without his old friend John wouldn't have gotten a job as a trauma surgeon and without a job he couldn't even have afforded his bedsit for long. He would have needed to move out of London but John knew deep down that he wouldn't have survived in the country. If the sheer boredom hadn't killed him, a bullet to the head would have done the job. A faceless, potential soulmate wouldn't have been enough to hold him back.

 

John didn't mention any of these thoughts as he finally addressed Sherlock's back. "It's okay. You couldn't have known that this would happen. It's only a shame about all of the flowers, seeing as they were never needed."

 

"Flowers?" Sherlock turned back towards John, a frown on his forehead.

 

"I bought you flowers or rather I bought flowers for your grave. I didn't know which you liked best so I varied them."

 

Something strange flickered in the blue depths of Sherlock's eyes, but it was gone before John could place it. They stared at each other, an awkward silence between them as John's admission of bringing Sherlock flowers hung in the air. John cursed himself for not keeping his mouth shut about his stupid habit. It had certainly ruined the mood and John wondered if it would be acceptable for him to leave. Surely they could meet up again some other time without all the drama between them.

 

"Sherlock," John got up to make his excuses when words started to tumble from his soulmate's lips at the speed of gunfire.

 

"I played The Game with Moriarty. At least I believed it to be a game at first. Finally there was a criminal who was up to my level of intelligence and I was thrilled. It was fun until." Sherlock's shoulders sagged and he turned his head back towards the window. "Until it wasn't fun anymore. Moriarty ruined my reputation and threatened to kill my... friends if I didn't commit suicide. Naturally I was prepared for such a thing and I survived the jump from Bart's but the public couldn't know of that. I had to go undercover to dismantle Moriarty's network. That's it."

 

John gaped at Sherlock who had told the story like it hadn't been a big deal. Faking his own death, beating a criminal mastermind and dismantling the network of a criminal organization. No big deal, back in time for tea.

 

"And here I thought James Bond wasn't real," John murmured to himself. The remark earned him a snort from Sherlock and shattered the awkwardness that had still lingered between them.

 

"Please John, I'm not some sort of hero that saves the world."

 

John frowned at that. The description of Bond wasn't too far off the mark but he still got the feeling that Sherlock didn't know what he was talking about. If he was right then this certainly called for a film marathon but not tonight. It was already past midnight and John's shift was about to start in six hours. He needed to get at least a couple of hours of sleep if he didn't want to be a danger to his patients. First though he had to make sure that Sherlock and he were on the same page regarding the whole being soulmates business. John certainly wanted to see more of the brilliant detective and he was just about to suggest that they go out on a date tomorrow when Sherlock dazzled him once more.

 

"You have a shift early tomorrow and you need to get some sleep. You take your responsibility as a surgeon very seriously and that's why you make sure to get enough rest although you don't like to stay at your apartment. It's better than the bedsit you lived in when you first came back to London but it doesn't feel like home to you." Sharp eyes flickered from John to a staircase and then back to him. "There is a free bedroom upstairs. Mrs. Hudson - the landlady - still feels grateful because I got her husband executed and that's why you will find the rent very cheap. You will also save seven minutes on your way to work each day so it's a win all around. As a military man, you don't own too many things so it won't take you long to move. If you call in sick tomorrow..."

 

"Wait! Hold on!" John held up his hand to stop Sherlock's flow of words as he filtered through the onslaught of information and tried not to get stuck on unimportant bits. He would certainly ask about the landlady's ex-husband at some point but right now he was only interested in one aspect of Sherlock's deductions. "You want me to move in with you?!"

 

"Yes." Sherlock stepped up to the couch to meet John's gaze directly. "I... that's what soulmates do, isn't it?"

 

John only stared up at Sherlock. Unsure if it was safe for him to open his mouth or if the danger of him spilling out what other activities soulmates did together was too high. Some people fell directly into bed together while others took their time to get to know each other first. John thought that the latter option was a better way to build a stable relationship. Therefore Sherlock's idea of them moving in together but not sharing a room yet was actually great. Nonetheless a part of John kept insisting that he already knew Sherlock very well and that there was no need for separate bedrooms. It was hard to remember that while John had known for over a year who is soulmate was, Sherlock hadn't had that luxury. John was still a stranger to him and John was also certain that there was more to Sherlock than what he had learned about him from articles. Therefore, Sherlock's idea of having separate bedrooms for the time being was certainly the better one. 

 

It must have taken John too long to come to this conclusion as Sherlock's face fell and he fidgeted nervously with a button on his shirt. "Of course I understand if you don't want to live with me. I only presumed... Never mind, it was stupid. I am bad at this."

 

Years worth of self-doubt and pain flashed through blue eyes before the feelings were lost in their depths once more. John only recognized them because he knew these feelings so well himself and he hated to see them reflected in Sherlock's eyes. He hadn't imagined Sherlock to be insecure in any area and that in itself already proved that they still had a lot to learn about each other. 

 

"I would like to move in with you." John heard himself say as he kept his gaze fixed on Sherlock to see how his words were received. Something like happiness flashed through the dark orbs before it was gone again a second later.

 

"I don't want to pressure you, John. I meant what I said, this really isn't my area."

 

"What isn't?"

 

"Relationships." Defeat resonated in that one word but John withstood the temptation to ask for more details. He would figure out what Sherlock meant in time. Besides, it wasn't like John was a shining example of stable relationships. Most of his friendships were superficial and his longest romantic relationship had only lasted six months. 

 

"We can learn about it together then." John's offer was rewarded with an upwards tilt of Sherlock's lips and a nod. He didn't know if his brilliant soulmate had deduced his own experiences with relationships from the way John had tilted his head while thinking about them or if he was merely grateful for John's words. Whatever the case, it was a relief to see the insecurity leave Sherlock's eyes.

 

"I will prepare everything for my move tomorrow. It will take a few days, probably even a couple of weeks but..."

 

"If you call in sick tomorrow you can overlook the move and Mycroft will take care of everything else."

 

"Mycroft?"

 

"My older brother who still owes me a favor. He will tell you that he holds a minor position in the British Government but in reality he is the British Government. A simple move is nothing for him."

 

"Right." John felt like he had fallen into a parallel universe although some puzzle pieces started to fall into place. "Your brother doesn't by any chance dress in old-fashioned three piece suits and carries an umbrella with him even if he meets with someone in an old warehouse?"

 

Sherlock groaned and rolled his eyes at the same time. "He kidnapped you, I should have known. Did he offer you money?"

 

"No, he threatened that I would never be able to work as a doctor again if he so wished." 

 

Even as Sherlock cursed at that and proceeded to call his brother every name in the book, John believed he understood Mycroft's motives. If he indeed ran the British Government he had probably been part of Sherlock's plan to dismantle Moriarty's network and John's sudden interest in Sherlock had been suspicious. Mycroft had only wanted to protect his baby brother but John would be damned if he mentioned as much. He got the feeling that defending Mycroft was the fastest way to get on Sherlock's bad side. Instead he chuckled quietly about his ranting soulmate and got up from the couch. A look at his watch confirmed that another hour had passed and that it would be more responsible to call in sick for work instead of starting his shift in five hours.

 

"You are leaving." 

 

John almost laughed at the surprised look on Sherlock's face. "Yes, I need some sleep if I am supposed to manage a move."

 

If John had believed he had seen Sherlock happy before it had been nothing in comparison to how his whole face lit up at these simple words. "Mycroft's men will be at your apartment around noon."

 

John nodded his consent and then there was another awkward moment as they both wondered how to bid each other goodnight. At least John wasn't sure if a hug was appropriate or if they should stick to shaking hands. The former sounded too intimate while the latter appeared too formal. Definitely a good idea to take things slowly, John mused to himself as he settled for a smile and a little wave. "See you later, Sherlock."

 

"Goodnight, John."

 

John couldn't remember the last time he had felt as excited as he did when he turned his back to Sherlock and left the flat. Secure in the knowledge that this step away from his soulmate was actually another one towards a life together with him. John couldn't wait for it to start.


	4. The Game is On!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this new chapter! As always, a big thank you to my beta reader **Tstui1gos** for taking the time to go through this chapter and improving it significantly. =)

### The Game is On!

"Sherlock? Are you in?"

 

No response. 

 

John shrugged to himself as he made his way to the kitchen. In the month that he had lived at Baker Street John had learned that Sherlock didn't stick to any sort of schedule. He didn't sleep most nights but John had found him stretched out on the couch during the day often enough not to worry overly much about it. His eating habits were another thing altogether. John had soon learned that Sherlock wouldn't accept food when he was busy. Considering that he had been busy for the better parts of three weeks after his resurrection had become public knowledge it wasn't surprising that John had needed to come up with a way to get nutrition into Sherlock. As it wasn't possible to either reason with his soulmate to eat something or threaten him to do so John had needed to be sneaky. Thankfully Sherlock's sweet tooth had made it possible for John to keep his blood sugar level up with hot chocolates and fruits covered in honey. Not the healthiest diet but better than Sherlock fainting.

 

Nevertheless John had been relieved when the uproar had died down and Sherlock had suggested that they order Chinese take-away. His soulmate still didn't eat as much as John would have liked but he didn't seem to be in danger of starving anymore. 

 

John hummed to himself as he put the kettle on and only spared a curious glance for the test tubes and beakers on the kitchen table. They had appeared shortly after John had moved in and although the chemical equipment made it impossible to have a meal in the kitchen, he didn't really mind. Hell, he probably should be annoyed about Sherlock doing all kinds of experiments in the kitchen but he wasn't.

 

John frowned as he infused the tea. If someone had asked him years ago if he would be bothered by late night violin concerts, experiments in the kitchen and hundreds of stacks of books in the sitting room he would have affirmed as much. Now though John found it hard to imagine living in a neat little flat with a usable kitchen table. Not that he didn't argue with Sherlock about the state of the flat from time to time but a clean flat didn't seem as important as it once had. Probably because John knew what life without Sherlock was like and he didn't want to get back to such a grey existence.

 

"Damn," he cursed as he took a sip of his tea and realised that it had steeped for too long. Hopefully they still had some milk left.

 

With a sigh John opened the refrigerator and threw it shut in shock a second later. This couldn't be... No, his mind must have played a trick on him. There was no way that a human head was sitting next to the cheese. Squaring his shoulders John opened the refrigerator again. The human head gave him a grotesque grin and John slammed the door in its face. Sherlock had stored body parts in there before but never a whole human head. It had only ever been a liver or a kidney and as long as they were stored in a box, John didn't mind. At least he hadn't minded until today. Obviously though, he needed to make it clear to Sherlock that there couldn't be body parts in the refrigerator if he didn't want to find a whole body stored in it one day. John didn't get much further with his thoughts as hurried steps sounded on the stairs and Sherlock burst into the flat.

 

"John! We have a case! Lestrade just called. It's a double homicide!"

 

"Great." The word was pressed out through clenched teeth and Sherlock's head snapped around to meet his gaze. John apparently looked angrier than he had first thought as most of the joy drained from Sherlock's face as he took a step in John's direction. His eyes flickered from the mug in John's hand to the refrigerator and up to John's face.

 

"You found Mr. Smith, I presume."

 

John didn't know what set him off. Maybe it was Sherlock's nonchalant tone or the fact that he hadn't had a good cup of tea yet but John felt himself reach his limit.

 

"You presume correctly, Sherlock!" John slammed his mug on the counter and glared at his soulmate. "Why the fuck is a human head stored in there?" John gestured wildly to the refrigerator. "I haven't said anything against the livers or kidneys but this is too much. I am afraid I will find eyeballs the next time I open the microwave."

 

"Actually," Sherlock started with a sheepish smile and John groaned in exasperation as he opened the microwave and found - not eyeballs - but a placenta.

 

"That's it!" John glared at Sherlock. "We can't continue like this. We need... Sherlock?" John frowned in confusion as his soulmate sagged against the wall. A defeated expression marred his features as he pressed a hand against the place where their soul string started.

 

"I knew that it wouldn't last," Sherlock spoke to the floor. "They are right, I really am a freak who can't even keep his own soulmate around for more than a month."

 

A pained laugh fell from Sherlock's lips and John felt his own heart break at the sound. He had never heard his soulmate talk like this but then again they were both English. Heart to heart talks weren't their forte. Now though John realised that they should have taken the time to talk about their feelings and expectations. Truthfully they lived comfortably together and had fallen into some sort of routine and easy companionship but if Sherlock believed that John would leave him over body parts in the flat their communication had failed.

 

"Sherlock," John started, but was interrupted as Sherlock's head snapped up and stormy eyes looked at him desperately.

 

"I can change, John. No more body parts. No more experiments and... I can buy milk. Yes, I will buy you milk and toilet paper! We can live like normal people and..."

 

"Stop!" John hated how Sherlock snapped his mouth shut at once but he couldn't stand to hear how his brilliant soulmate talked about himself like this. "I don't want you to change. The experiments don't bother me most of the time and it's fine if I always have to buy the groceries."

 

Sherlock shook his head at this. "No, it isn't. You are always complaining about it."

 

John shrugged. "I am also complaining about my work at Bart's and yet I still like doing it most of the time. I just need to let off some steam once in a while."

 

Sherlock still didn't look convinced and John crossed the space between them and placed a hand on his arm. "I am not going to leave you just because you are who you are."

 

"Because I am your soulmate."

 

"No." John shook his head. "I wouldn't stay with someone I couldn't stand even if they were my soulmate. I enjoy living with you and... that's why I want to make it work."

 

Wariness and hope fought a battle in the depths of Sherlock's eyes as he met John's gaze. "How?"

 

"I would suggest we get another refrigerator. One for food and one for body parts. And if you really need to do experiments in the microwave, we should get a second one too."

 

Sherlock stared at John like he had never seen him before, his eyes full of wonder and awe. "John," he breathed and John's heart jumped in his chest as Sherlock leaned towards him. God, John had fantasized about a moment like this since he had first lain eyes on Sherlock. He had dreamed about their first kiss and while he hadn't expected it to happen after an argument about body parts, he didn't mind. He didn't mind at all as he stood up on tiptoes... and almost lost his hold when Sherlock's phone rang.

 

Disappointment flashed through John as Sherlock turned away to answer the call. And here he had hoped that after the tumult of the last weeks they finally had a chance to make progress in their relationship. It would have been the perfect time considering that John also had the week off. They would have had the time to explore this area as slowly as they wanted and...

 

"Lestrade says he can only wait for us at the crime scene for another hour. Are you coming?"

 

John blinked. They had never talked about John coming to a crime scene with Sherlock. Truthfully Sherlock hadn't been called to a crime scene since he had come back to London but still...

 

"John?"

 

"Yes, I am coming."

 

How could he not when Sherlock was looking so excited?! Besides John had never seen Sherlock working a case before. Yet he had read so much about his work that he couldn't wait. 

 

They were out the door and in a taxi not five minutes later and John couldn't tell who was more excited about the promise of a good case. Sherlock seemed to vibrate with excitement as he typed away on his phone at lightning speed and John... he could barely sit still himself as he inwardly urged the driver to go faster. It probably wasn't right or decent to be this excited about getting to a scene where two people had been murdered but John couldn't help himself. He really wanted to see Sherlock in action and if his soulmate was on the case then it also meant that there was a higher chance that the murderer was caught. At least that was what John had gathered from everything he had read about Sherlock's cases.

 

"You still shouldn't feel this excited about it. Two people are dead. Are you a doctor or not?"  
John flinched at the scolding from his conscience and felt sharp eyes focus on him at once.

 

"Alright?"

 

John didn't bother to reply as Sherlock's gaze swept over him and he knew that his soulmate would have deduced his conflicted feelings in a matter of seconds.

 

"Oh!" Sherlock breathed as his eyes widened in surprise and John braced himself for his deductions. "You are a marvel, John Watson!"

 

That... wasn't what he had expected. John frowned slightly at Sherlock who was still staring at him in wonder. "Care to elaborate?"

 

"You are excited about going to a crime scene and at the same time you want to feel bad about feeling excited because two people have been murdered. Your conscience is at war with your true self."

 

John snorted at that. "My true self gets excited when people are murdered?" The cabbie gave them a strange look in the rear mirror.

 

"Of course not!" Sherlock rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Your true self is an adrenaline junkie. You love danger and excitement. That's why you became an army doctor and are still working as a trauma surgeon at Bart's although you have gotten offers for other - less strenuous - positions. You need variety in your life and that's why this case excites you. It's something new and there is no need to feel bad about that. If we had been called to investigate a burglary you would have been just as excited. Therefore you don't have to fear that you are turning into a psychopath."

 

"Brilliant!"

 

It probably wasn't the right response to such a deduction but John couldn't stop himself from blurting it out. He had been on the receiving end of Sherlock's deductions numerous times and while they could be very invasive John found himself amazed by them every time. Even after Sherlock had deduced that Harry would relapse - after overhearing a phone call - John hadn't found it in himself to be angry at him. He had accepted how brilliant his soulmate was before he had even known him and the deductions didn't bother him most of the time. Right now they even made John feel better about himself and calmed his conscience down.

 

"You might want to keep your praise to yourself at the crime scene."

 

John's eyebrows shot up at that. "Does it bother you?"

 

Of course, it probably wouldn't go over well with the officers if he started to applaud his soulmate while he was examining the scene of a brutal murder. Though a little praise shouldn't be too ill received, would it? Only it might distract Sherlock from his work if John gave him a verbal pat on the shoulder every time he made a deduction.

 

"No, but it might bother you."

 

Now that didn't make any sense at all. Why should it bother him if he praised Sherlock? John opened his mouth to ask for clarification when the cab came to a halt in front of a police block and Sherlock was out of the door in no time.

 

"Sherlock..."

 

"Thirty-three quid, mate."

 

John groaned as he fished out his wallet and all but threw the money at the cabbie before he sprinted after Sherlock. Thankfully his soulmate was still chatting with one of the officers outside the building. Otherwise John doubted that he would have had any luck in following Sherlock onto the crime scene.

 

"... Anderson is an imbecile," John heard Sherlock say to the officer as he stepped up to them. "John will examine the bodies and tell me everything this idiot missed."

 

"John? Who is...?"

 

The grey eyes of the officer found him and John put an easy smile on his face as he offered his hand. "Doctor John Watson, a pleasure to meet you."

 

"Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade." 

 

They barely managed a hand shake before Sherlock grabbed John's arm and dragged him towards the building. "No time for such nonsense. We have a murder to solve."

 

"Hold on, Sherlock!" Lestrade jogged after them when Sherlock didn't even glance in his direction as he led John away. "You can't just bring someone unauthorized to a crime scene without even telling me who he is!"

 

"He is with me, isn't that enough?!" Sherlock took the time to glare at Lestrade and would have continued on his way if John hadn't stopped him. He understood why Sherlock wanted to get to work without having to offer explanations but he didn't fancy getting on the bad side of the DI. He had spent a night in a prison cell once for getting into a fight at a pub and he didn't fancy to repeat the experience.

 

"Sherlock and I live together and since I don't work today, he asked me to help him with this case. I have seen various kinds of injuries in my days in the army so I thought I might be of help. If you are fine with it, Inspector."

 

"Of course he is fine with it." Sherlock growled in exasperation while Lestrade stared at them both in disbelief. 

 

"You live together? How? Why?"

 

"We are soulmates," John hastily explained as he felt Sherlock getting closer to losing his temper. "It was logical to move in together."

 

Lestrade couldn't have looked more flabbergast if someone had told him that humans would start to colonize Mars this weekend. John frowned at the overreaction. As unlikely as it was that someone would meet their soulmate, it wasn't unheard of and it didn't warrant such a level of surprise. "Sherlock..."

 

"Come on, John! It doesn't seem like Lestrade has anything else to say."

 

Sherlock didn't meet his eyes as he turned around and marched through the entrance of the old mansion. Confused John trailed behind him. Had he done something wrong? Certainly Sherlock couldn't be angry at John for telling the DI who he was and why he was at the crime scene or... could he?

 

John followed Sherlock with his eyes as the detective moved through the sitting-room where the murders had been committed. Usually when Sherlock was angry he would move around in agitation and scream at everyone and everything that got in his way. This time though Sherlock was quiet as he circled the two bodies - both women - with measured steps before he ducked to look under the sofa. Either Sherlock had himself under better control when he was working or... it was something else.

 

John crossed his arms over his chest as he noted the tension in Sherlock's back as he poked at the ashes in the fireplace. No, his soulmate didn't seem angry but rather nervous. Like a man who was preparing for being attacked. A quick glance around showed John that most police officers and forensic technicians didn't look too friendly at Sherlock while some were eyeing John critically. So far no one had remarked on him being here but he noticed a woman - probably a Sergeant - moving his way.

 

"So, you are here with the Freak."

It wasn't a question and John couldn't have replied if it had been one as he could only gape at her. Some of the articles he had read - before Sherlock's name had been cleared - had referred to him as a Freak and Psychopath but he hadn't expected to find such sentiments shared by police officers. Especially not after Sherlock had redeemed himself by destroying one of the biggest criminal networks of the world.

 

"Are you really his soulmate?"

 

John only focused half his attention on the Sergeant as he noticed how Sherlock stiffened next to the body of the red-haired woman. Suddenly Sherlock's strange behavior started to make sense. 

 

"Yes, but I don't see how that's any of your business." John had thought that his annoyed tone was enough to make it clear that the conversation was over but the Sergeant didn't take the hint. 

 

"Usually I would congratulate everyone who is lucky enough to find their soulmate but in your case I advise you to run as long as you still can. You look like a decent bloke and the Freak is dangerous." She pointed a finger at Sherlock who still had his back turned to them. "He isn't here to help us but because he gets off on these crimes. If it was up to me I would send him to a psychiatric clinic and throw the key away."

 

John bristled at her words and the way other members of the police force snickered at them. No wonder that Sherlock had behaved so strangely after John had told Lestrade that they were soulmates. He had expected such a reaction from the members of Scotland Yard and John hated them for treating Sherlock like this. Admittedly he wasn't the easiest person to work or live with but he didn't deserve such treatment. Especially not after everything he had done for these people.

 

"Listen," he growled and leveled his best glare at the Sergeant. "I don't know what your damn problem is but you better get your shit together real fast. I won't stand by and listen to you insult the best thing that ever happened to me. And yes - for the record - I am talking about finding my soulmate in Sherlock. If you have a problem with that, keep it to yourself!"

 

Silence.

 

The Sergeant was gaping at him as were the other policemen. John glared at everyone in turn until his gaze landed on Sherlock. Blue eyes - as wide and clear as the sky in the desert - stared at him in a mixture of awe and disbelief. It was the last piece of the puzzle that John had still needed to realise that his first assessment had been wrong: Sherlock hadn't prepared himself for the mocking of the officers but for John's reaction to it. John's heart gave a painful throb as he imagined how Sherlock had come to expect the worst from everyone. Obviously he didn't even trust his own soulmate not to be swayed by the hateful words of these idiots.

 

Before John got to draw any more conclusions from these observations, Sherlock gestured for him to come over. "What do you think?"

 

John crouched down next to the body and carefully examined the stab wound that Sherlock had pointed out to him. At first glance the case appeared to be clear, but...

 

"The wound was fatal but something is amiss." John glanced at the white carpet that covered the sitting room. There was a fair amount of dried blood where the second victim lay but barely anything around the one he was examining right now. "One was killed here but the other wasn't."

 

"Very good, John. You have figured out more in a few minutes than these imbeciles did in hours. Not that I am sure you haven't missed most of the clues but this was still a good first try."

 

Before John could decide if he had just been insulted or complimented Sherlock sprang to his feet and John had to hurry to catch up with his soulmate as he swept from the room. He caught up to him as he stopped briefly next to the Sergeant that had tried to warn John off him. "You should tell Anderson to get a new carpet. The one at his apartment isn't doing your knees any good, Sally."

 

John didn't even try to cover his snickers with a cough as he followed behind Sherlock. The Sergeant had gotten off easy as far as John was concerned. 

 

They left the crime scene without talking to the DI and John didn't ask any questions until they got to a main road and Sherlock started to look for a cab. "What are we going to do now?"

 

"Finding the murderers of course."

 

"Murderers?" John got the feeling that he had missed something important and Sherlock's impatient sigh proved him correct.

 

"Of course murderers. The brunette - Samantha Greenwald - was killed at home while her half-sister - Nadia Taylor - was killed somewhere else and then brought to the house."

 

"But isn't it possible that the murderer got caught by surprise by Samantha and killed her as well? And why do you think that they were half-sisters. I thought they were..."

 

"Lovers?" Sherlock finished the sentence for him and nodded even as he glared at another occupied cab that didn't stop for them. "They have been lovers for five years but only learned that they were related by blood half a year ago. I don't know if it's relevant to the case - yet - but I assure you that they weren't killed by the same person. Samantha was killed at home before the other killer carried the body of Nadia back to the house. He merely seized his chance and arranged Nadia in a way that would suggest that she was killed at home as well. While it wasn't a brilliant idea, his plan was good enough to fool the idiots from Scotland Yard. Taxi!" Sherlock gestured to a cab and this one finally pulled up at the kerb.

 

"So, what's next then?" John climbed into the cab after Sherlock and looked expectantly at his soulmate.

 

"Now we are going to catch two murderers, John." Sherlock's eyes gleamed with excitement and John felt a shiver run down his spine in response to it. The game was on!


	5. Smoke and Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second to last chapter, this story is almost done.^^ A big thank you at this point goes again to my amazing beta-reader **Tstui1gos** for going through this chapter and improving it as a result. :)

### Smoke and Kisses

"God, that was awesome!"

 

John still felt giddy with the combination of excitement and adrenalin as they stumbled up the stairs to the flat. After Sherlock had figured out where Nadia had been murdered, it had been easy for him to deduce her killer.

 

"I still can't understand how someone is capable of killing their own children," John mused as he hung up his coat. Nadia's killer had been her own mother while Samantha had been killed by her father. Truthfully, the killings hadn't been planned but that didn't make it any better. Nadia's mother had invited her daughter over to her apartment to convince her to leave her half-sister. Meanwhile, their father had visited Samantha for the same reason. Sherlock's investigation had revealed that Nadia had been killed first by her mother during an argument. In her panic the mother had called the father and Samantha had overheard everything and she had completely lost it. That had led to a fight with her father and in the end to her getting stabbed as well.

 

"I just don't understand why the mother took the risk of bringing Nadia home. Why didn't she just dump her somewhere else?"

 

"Sentiment," Sherlock huffed behind John. "She wanted to make up for what she had done by bringing her daughter back to the house of her lover. Pointless really after they had both been killed.. This case was barely a five."

 

John opened his mouth to ask Sherlock about the random number he had assigned to the case but closed it with a snap as he took in his soulmate's appearance. Sherlock's dark curls were beautifully messed up after he had carded his fingers through them numerous times. His cheeks were still flushed from the cold night air and his eyes... They were as bright and inviting as the clear water of the lake near the house of his grandparents. John had never managed to withstand the temptation of jumping into its cool depths as a child and he hadn't gotten much better at holding himself back since then.

 

With two steps he crossed the space between them and sealed Sherlock's lips with his own. They were dry and cool... and completely unresponsive. The last observation had barely registered in John's mind when he was pushed away and stumbled back against his armchair.

 

"Sherlock?"

 

Gone was the clear blue of his eyes, replaced by a murky grey as emotions swirled through their depths like clouds before a storm. They stared at each other in shock before Sherlock reached for his coat and all but fled from the flat.

 

"Sherlock!" John's call was answered by the slamming of the door downstairs and he sagged against his armchair. He had ruined it. After he had withstood the temptation to act on his feelings for Sherlock for a month of living with him, he had ruined everything with one rash action. And that after they had agreed on taking it slowly.

 

"But he hadn't seemed adverse to a kiss this morning. It's not your fault," a tiny part of him defended his actions but John only scowled at it. Even if Sherlock had been interested this morning that didn't give John the right to kiss him like this. If he had even been interested and John hadn't misinterpreted things.

 

"It was just a kiss. Nothing to worry about." John snorted at that. He was sure that most people would forgive an unwelcome kiss - especially under this circumstances - but he didn't know if the same was true for Sherlock. His soulmate was an enigma to him. Whenever John believed to understand him, he did something unexpected to dazzle him. Even if Sherlock forgave him, John didn't know what would happen afterwards. He was terrible at handling rejections and unrequited feelings.

 

"You could move out."

 

John dismissed the idea with a shake of his head. He couldn't leave Sherlock. The thought was even less appealing than hacking off his hands. No, he would have to find a way to live with it. After all it couldn't be harder than living in the knowledge that his soulmate had killed himself before he had even gotten a chance to meet him.

 

John nodded to himself in determination and then... yawned. Whatever happened next he needed to get some sleep before he could even hope to think clearly about the issue. 

 

A trip to the bathroom later found John all but falling into his bed. He had believed it would take ages for him to fall asleep with everything on his mind. Obviously though he was more tired than he had realised as he had barely time to draw up the covers before his eyes fell shut.

 

OOO

 

John woke to the feeling of being watched. He kept his eyes closed and his breathing as even as possible to not give away to the intruder that he was awake. Living with an alcoholic father and spending years in Afghanistan had taught John that it was often safer to pretend to still be asleep. Someone who was looking for a fight would just leave and look elsewhere for a provocation.

 

Nevertheless John mentally checked where he had stored his gun and how long it would take him to draw it. He kept it in the top drawer of his nightstand and although it wasn't loaded the sight of it alone should be enough to scare the intruder away. Though if it wasn't enough John was confident in his close combat skills.

 

"I know that you are awake, John."

 

The voice - closer to his bed than John had expected - startled him enough to make him jerk up. His hand was already reaching for the drawer when his brain finally caught up with the situation and he froze. Enough light filtered from the cracked open door into the room to make out the intruder next to his bed. Although it wasn't a real intruder but Sherlock.

 

John blinked up at his friend in confusion and then glanced at the clock on his nightstand. It was gone four in the morning. He had gone to bed about three hours ago and yet he didn't feel tired at all. 

 

"Adrenalin," his mind supplied helpfully but John ignored the scientific explanation in favor of staring at Sherlock again. He wasn't wearing his coat anymore but what appeared to be a plain shirt and soft trousers - probably pajama bottoms. His feet were also bare and John felt an instinctive desire to protect Sherlock as his toes wriggled on the cold floor. It was stupid considering that his soulmate was more than capable of protecting himself but still...

 

"I'm sorry."

 

John's eyes snapped back up to Sherlock's face at the unexpected words. There was too little light to make out his features but John assumed that Sherlock was gnawing at his lower lip right now. He often did that when he was nervous or out of his depth. The nervous fidgeting of his fingers certainly spoke for it.

 

"There is nothing you need to apologize for," John spoke quietly into the twilight of the room. And there really wasn't. If anything John was the one who should apologize for making assumptions and kissing Sherlock like that. They had agreed to take their relationship slowly and then John had galloped ahead without thinking. No wonder Sherlock had felt the need to flee and... smoke. John frowned at the latest realisation as he caught a sniff of tobacco as Sherlock took a step closer to his bed.

 

"You smoked."

 

It wasn't meant as an accusation but Sherlock still flinched slightly at the words and directed his gaze at John's feet as he spoke next. "I needed to think and... to calm down. I quit smoking a couple of years ago but sometimes a cigarette helps to clear my head. Nicotine patches don't really have the same effect."

 

John didn't point out to Sherlock that the calming effect of cigarettes was merely a psychological response considering that nicotine was actually a stimulant. He was damn sure that his friend knew the studies as well as John did. Besides it was his unwelcome kiss that had driven Sherlock to the false comfort of cigarettes so John didn't have the right to complain at all. "You don't have to explain yourself to me."

 

"But I do!"

 

John jerked in surprise at the desperate exclamation and stared at his friend with wide eyes. Sherlock sighed and ran agitated hands through his hair before he started to pace through the room. "Don't you see, John?! I don't know how to do this!"

 

"Do what exactly?" John felt bad when Sherlock sighed in exasperation at the question but it was much too late for John to make huge mental jumps. Nevertheless a still functioning part of his brain suspected that Sherlock's agitation had something to do with the kiss in the sitting-room a few hours ago.

 

"Maybe that's what he isn't good at - telling you that he isn't interested in such a relationship." The voice in his mind sounded as nasty as ever and John had a harder time than usual to shut it up. He wouldn't jump to a conclusion... although this one didn't sound farfetched.

 

"This!" Sherlock stopped in the middle of the room and gestured between John and himself. "I don't know how to do this. I told you that I am not good at this kind of thing."

 

John's heart jumped in his throat as Sherlock's words appeared to confirm his worst fears but he forced himself to ask for clarification. There was no way he was giving up the potential for their relationship without a clear, verbal confirmation from Sherlock first.

 

"What exactly do you think you aren't good at? I'm sorry," John added when Sherlock groaned in frustration. "I have run around London for hours and I'm damn tired. You will have to spell it out for me."

 

For a second John feared that Sherlock was going to bolt from the room before his whole body seemed to sag in defeat. 

 

"Relationships." Sherlock stumbled a step in John's direction. "I told you that I am terrible at them. Obviously I can't even share a kiss with my soulmate without running away." An ugly laugh echoed through the room and John flinched at the sound.

 

"They are right, you know," Sherlock continued to speak to the wall above John's bed. "You couldn't have found yourself a worse soulmate. I really am a F..."

 

"Stop!" John was out of the bed and next to Sherlock in a heartbeat. "I said today that I won't listen to anyone insulting my soulmate and that includes you as well."

 

"Is it still an insult if it's true?"

 

John opened his mouth to protest and closed it again when he noticed the forlorn expression on his friend's face. Nothing he said could erase the scars of years - or maybe even decades - of verbal abuse. John could rant about everyone who had ever told Sherlock that he was a freak but that wouldn't change anything. The damage was already done and John could only try to repair it as best as he could. Not that he had the first clue how to go about this task but for tonight he would just go with his gut feeling.

 

"I don't believe that they are correct. For me, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me." John dared to meet his friend's conflicted eyes and gave a small smile. "You say that you are terrible at relationships but you have been a wonderful friend to me. I enjoy spending time with you and as I said this morning that's not because we are soulmates. I just... I like you."

 

"You..." Sherlock started and then stopped. His eyelashes fluttered rapidly as he blinked several times with his mouth hanging open.

 

"Sherlock?" 

 

John dared reaching for his friend's hand as he started to fear that he had somehow broken him. Not that it seemed likely that you could break a human like you could break a computer but it appeared possible in this moment. He stroked Sherlock's soft but cold skin with a fingertip but still didn't get a reaction from him.

 

"Okay, this is getting scary now," John murmured to himself just when Sherlock seemed to snap back to the present.

 

"You like me and you enjoy my company."

 

It wasn't a question but John found it appropriate to nod.

 

"So you kissed me because... you wanted to?"

 

"Yes, of course I did."

 

For a second John feared that Sherlock would start the rapid blinking thing again but then he merely nodded. A small smile curled around the corner of his lips. "Good... that's good. And I..." A tongue darted out to lick Sherlock's lips nervously. "I liked that you did it... kissed me, I mean."

 

Now it was John's turn to blink in confusion while tightening his hold on Sherlock's hands. "If you liked it then why did you run away to calm down and have a smoke?"

 

If there hadn't been so little light in the room John was certain that he would have seen the heat rise into Sherlock's cheeks as his friend ducked his head in embarrassment. "I'm not used to people kissing me and I didn't know what it meant and... I got overwhelmed."

 

Hundreds of questions formed in John's mind at these words but they were all unimportant right now except for one. "But you liked kissing me?"

 

"Yes." 

 

Sherlock nodded and John waited for an elaboration but when none was forthcoming he forced out his next question. "And do you want us to be more than friends? Because I do." John felt that it was important to make it clear where he stood. He wouldn't allow miscommunication to destroy the special bond between them. 

 

"Yes, I just wasn't sure if that was what you wanted."

 

Alright, they definitely needed to work on the communication part of their relationship. John let out a sigh that turned into a yawn followed by a complete body shudder as his body finally registered how cold it was.

 

"You are tired." Sherlock sounded as if this was the greatest deduction he had ever made. 

 

"Not everyone can live on three hours of sleep a night." John chuckled quietly even as another yawn threatened to dislocate his jaw.

 

"You should get some sleep then."

 

John nodded at the suggestions but he didn't make a move to get back into bed. If he went to sleep again then he needed to let go off Sherlock's hand first and his friend would leave his room and...

 

"You need to sleep as well." John wet his lips and then threw all caution to the wind as he gestured to his bed. "It's big enough for the both of us."

 

To his immense relief, Sherlock neither bolted from the room at the suggestion of them sleeping together nor did his brain go offline again. Instead he took a step in the direction of the bed before he glanced at John for confirmation. "Just to sleep, right?"

 

"Yes, of course."

 

John was too tired to figure out if Sherlock's shoulders sagged in relief or disappointment as he climbed into the bed. He suspected that it was relief considering that his friend had been overwhelmed by a mere kiss but it was much too late for speculations.

 

"Is that okay?" Sherlock's voice was barely above a whisper as he snuggled up against John's side.

 

Instead of a verbal response John drew Sherlock even closer and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Sleep well, Sherlock."

 

"You too, John."

 

To John's great surprise it was in fact Sherlock who fell asleep first as proven by his regular breathing interrupted only by sporadic snores. Obviously even brilliant consulting detectives needed their beauty sleep.

 

John smiled silently into messy curls as he pressed another kiss to Sherlock's hair. The faint scent of smoke still clung to him but it didn't bother John as much as he would have thought. He would have accepted Sherlock in his bed even if he had reeked like an ashtray if that had meant not worrying about a simple kiss. Still the kiss hadn't been as simple to Sherlock as it had been to him. John frowned a little. His friend had admitted that he wasn't used to being kissed but that could mean a lot of things. He knew enough people who had relationships that included all kind of sex acts but little to no kissing. So Sherlock's lack of knowledge in regards to romantic relationships didn't have to mean that he was inexperienced overall. 

 

"He could also be asexual and not interested in sex at all." This time John listened to the voice in his head and accepted the possibility that it was right. Nonetheless, John thought as he closed his eyes and held Sherlock close, it didn't really matter. As long as he was allowed to hold his soulmates in his arms like this he would be fine with as much or as little sex as he was offered. It was with that thought that John finally slipped into a deep sleep with Sherlock close at his side.


	6. Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter of this story. Thank you all for reading and sharing your thoughts with me. The story in this form wouldn't have been possible without my wonderful beta-reader, **Tstui1gos**. A huge thank you goes to her. 
> 
> This chapter is the reason for the rating of this story so if sex scenes aren't your cup of tea, don't read it. Everyone else, enjoy! =)

### Together

He was warm. Warm and comfortable.

 

John sighed contentedly as he slowly surfaced from sleep but kept his eyes closed for the time being. He couldn't remember the last time he had woken up feeling so well-rested. His mind felt refreshed and his whole body was relaxed. Okay most parts of his body were relaxed, John corrected himself with a grin as his morning erection gave an insistent throb. He rolled his hips languidly - not yet decided if he wanted to take care of his hard-on in bed or take a long shower instead - and snuggled closer to the warm body in his arms.

 

Wait a second!

 

John barely managed to refrain from jerking upwards, his whole body tensing even as the memories from last night came back to him. His kiss with Sherlock and their conversation about it in the middle of the night before they had decided to share a bed. 

 

John groaned inwardly as he took a moment to analyze their positions in bed. They had both fallen asleep on their backs but now they were lying on their sides with John spooning Sherlock. And if that wasn't troublesome enough John's left arm had also found its way under Sherlock's head. It would be hard to get out of bed without waking his friend in the process.

 

"You can also stay here and wait for him to wake up."

 

John rolled his eyes at the stupid suggestion and glared down in the general direction of his groin. He knew why he had woken up with an erection - he was a doctor after all - but that didn't mean that John liked it. Oh, he certainly liked to have sex - either alone or with a willing partner - but he had something against badly timed erections. And waking up with one while sharing a bed with Sherlock for the first time was certainly bad timing. If he added to it that they had only kissed once and never talked about sex, it made the situation even worse.  
A quiet gasp fell from his lips when Sherlock snuggled farther back in his arms and rubbed his arse against John's cock.

 

Damn, John cursed inwardly as he felt himself harden even more. There was no way that his erection would vanish by itself. Not after receiving such nice stimulation and certainly not while John was so close to Sherlock. He could smell his friend everywhere and if John were to lean forward a little he would be able to press a kiss to Sherlock's pale throat. He could even lick the soft looking skin and get a taste of... No, this train of thought wasn't helping at all. John pressed his eyes shut and tried to calm down but this only made him more aware of the warm body in his arms.

 

There was nothing for it, John needed to get up. Carefully he shifted his hips away from Sherlock and started to wriggle his arm free. This way Sherlock hopefully wouldn't notice the bulge in John's pants even if he were to wake up. Not that John was ashamed of his bodily reactions but after the disaster from yesterday he didn't want to spook Sherlock again. He had almost managed to get his arm back to himself when fingers closed around the wrist that John had loosely placed on Sherlock's belly. He froze.

 

"There is no need to get up." Sherlock's sleep rumbled voice informed him.

 

"I need to use the toilet." It wasn't even a lie per se. John certainly needed to take care of his throbbing cock and the bathroom was the safest place to masturbate right now.

 

Sherlock didn't loosen his grip on John's wrist as he turned his head slightly and looked at him. Mercurial eyes swept over his face and John forced himself to look like he really needed to empty his bladder. It wasn't an easy task while keeping his lower body parts away from the inviting warmth of Sherlock's body at the same time. Nevertheless John believed that he had been successful when his friend nodded in understanding. The relief about this only lasted for about a second when a knowing grin spread over his friend's face. "You don't need to use the toilet. You want to go to the bathroom to masturbate."

 

John somehow managed to groan, shrug and roll his eyes at the same time as he met Sherlock's gaze. He didn't mind the directness of Sherlock's words - talk in the army had been much crasser - and he wasn't ashamed that his body was reacting in a healthy way. It was a little annoying that his friend had to deduce everything - no matter how intimate the information - but John could live with that. At least he now knew that Sherlock wasn't bothered by John's arousal.

 

"If you know that then you certainly understand why I need to go to the bathroom." John made an effort to get up but Sherlock's grip on his arm only tightened.

 

"You don't need to go to the bathroom." Sherlock's hoarse voice sent a shiver through John's body. God if only his friend was implying what John was hoping for. But no, it wasn't likely that someone who had fled from a kiss would try to seduce him the next morning.

 

"Yes, I do." John sighed in exasperation as his next attempt at getting up was hindered by Sherlock again. He really didn't want to use force and hurt Sherlock in the process. "Look, it's not going away on its own and I would really like a long wanking session under a hot shower."

 

His words didn't evoke the envisioned reaction. John had expected Sherlock to blush - or become a little embarrassed at least - at the graphic description. Instead the grin on his friend's face got even bigger and before John could react, Sherlock was drawing his captured hand down his own body.

 

"I don't think that there is enough hot water available for the both of us," Sherlock whispered conspiratorial as he pressed John's hand against the bulge in his own pants.

 

A small gasp fell from John's lips as he gave Sherlock's cock a squeeze through his pajama pants before he could stop himself.

 

"Wait! Wait a second!" John forced himself to move his hand to his friend's hip even as Sherlock groaned in protest. It was great that his friend was more than willing to indulge in morning sex with him but John needed to sort some things out beforehand.

 

"Idiot, why can't you just enjoy the moment?!"

 

John pushed the annoying voice away. Maybe he was an idiot for getting hung up about a messed up kiss but he needed to know where they both stood. After all this wasn't just a fling or an affair for John. He was in bed with not only his soulmate but the man who had become his best friend in a short amount of time. John wasn't going to ruin this for some sexual relief.  
The words were already on the tip of his tongue when Sherlock sighed and turned in his arms so that they were face to face.

 

"You are worried because I told you that the kiss in the kitchen overwhelmed me."

 

"Yes, I..." John started to say but got distracted when Sherlock ran his fingers through his short hair.

 

"Don't be." The words were a mere whisper and John allowed Sherlock to breathe a kiss to his lips before he drew his head away. Hurt darkened his friend's eyes to a deep blue at his reaction and John hurried to explain himself.

 

"I can't stop worrying about the kiss just like this. It would be like asking you to stop thinking in the middle of a case, it's not possible. I need to know first what triggered your reaction."

 

The hurt gave way to exasperation as Sherlock turned on his back with a huff. "I already told you that I became overwhelmed. I am not overwhelmed now and we already established that we both want to take our relationship to the next level. What more do you need to know?"

 

John sighed. He would have preferred sex to such a conversation but talking things through was more important in the long run.

 

"Why did you become overwhelmed?" When Sherlock didn't respond to the question John added: "You said that you aren't used to kissing people. Does that mean that..."

 

"It means just that." Sherlock shook his head at the ceiling and then turned his head to meet John's gaze once more. There was an odd mixture of defiance and vulnerability mirrored in his eyes and John understood why as Sherlock elaborated. "I'm not used to kissing. It has never been about kissing before but only ever about sex. Which should answer your questions about whether I am asexual or still a virgin. I am neither if it's too hard for you to work out."

 

John chuckled quietly and stroked a wayward curl from Sherlock's forehead. He had gotten used to having his intelligence insulted by his friend and most of the time it didn't bother him. Sherlock's mind was so much higher-functioning than that of most people that John could see why everyone else seemed slow to him. This coupled with what Sherlock had told him about his - non-existent - experiences with relationships also explained why he had reacted so strongly to the kiss. While he didn't have any trouble finding the tiniest clue and making deductions based on it, Sherlock obviously had a harder time when it came to sorting through emotions. But John could live with that. Now that he knew about the issue.

 

"It's all fine, you know." John murmured and brushed his nose against one high cheekbone. "I just wanted to make sure that we are both on the same page. I have also more experience with sex than with kissing people." John admitted the last part as an afterthought when he finally realised where Sherlock's defiant look had come from. Some people might be put off if they learned that their soulmate had had a lot of former sexual partners but John would be a hypocrite to do so. 

 

"Great," Sherlock drawled seemingly bored but he couldn't completely keep the smirk out of his voice. "Now that we have settled that we can finally get to the good part."

 

John didn't get a chance to protest - not that he wanted to - when Sherlock rolled on top of him and caught his lips in a heated kiss. John groaned deep in his throat as a skilled tongue slipped between his lips and he brought his hands up to hold his friend closer. He ran his fingers through Sherlock's messy curls while his other hand stroked down the pajama clad back until it reached its destination.

 

"John!" Sherlock's teeth nicked John's lower lip as he jumped in surprise when John squeezed his arse. 

 

"It's just as plump as it looks." 

 

John only managed to hold back his amusement for a brief moment as he met his friend's annoyed look before he started to laugh. He was soon joined by Sherlock's deep chuckles and the last lingering tension from their conversation dissolved.

 

"You," Sherlock managed to get out, his eyes still crinkled with laughter. "You can't make such assumptions about my arse without having seen it."

 

John sprawled on his back and looked up at Sherlock who was kneeling over him. "Is that an offer?"

 

"Only if you undress as well." 

 

John was out of his shirt just as soon as Sherlock had finished speaking. He was already reaching for his pants when Sherlock moved to his side to get rid of his own clothing. They were both naked in record time and John allowed his eyes to roam over his friend's body. He had seen Sherlock's bare chest a number of times but it felt entirely different while lying in bed with him. John licked his lips as his eyes fell on the pink nipples in between sparse curls of dark hair and he vowed to find out just how sensitive they were.

 

John's gaze followed the path of dark hair that descended from Sherlock's navel and to a proud erection that rose from amid a nest of curls. The foreskin was completely retracted and the first drops of pre-come glistened on its tip. John licked his lips again. He wanted to taste it. Hell, he wanted to taste every part of Sherlock.

 

His gaze flickered back up to Sherlock's face and he caught him staring at John's body with a similar expression on his face. His cock gave an eager twitch at the thought of the wet heat of Sherlock's mouth around it. God and how he wanted that. And not just that but everything Sherlock was willing to give. Everything...

 

They both reached for each other at the same time. Their lips met in a desperate and heated kiss as they pressed their bodies together to get some sort of friction. John buried his right hand in Sherlock's curls once more while he grabbed his arse with his other hand to bring their lower body parts together. He groaned into the kiss when his cock rubbed against Sherlock's and a large hand squeezed his arse in return.

 

It would be possible for him to come just like this John realised as they moved against each other in some semblance of a rhythm. Definitely no hardship with Sherlock's hands roaming all over his back and his lips caught in a desperate kiss with his soulmate. Still John wanted more. Deep down he knew that there was no need to rush anything and that they could take it slow but he didn't want to. They had talked about everything important and... To hell with it, they were both grown men.

 

John deepened the kiss momentarily, drawing a gasp from Sherlock's lips before he drew back. Sherlock tried to follow his movement with his eyes closed and his lips kiss-swollen and John swore that he had never seen someone so fucking beautiful in his life. It was hard not to fall back into the kiss after that sight but less so to nuzzle against Sherlock's neck and whisper his wish in his ear. "I want to ride you." 

 

John underlined his words by reaching between their bodies and giving Sherlock's cock a long stroke. Blue eyes - wild as the sea after a storm - snapped open and met John's in surprise. The surprise only lasted for a second as they flickered over John's face and filled with desire and no small amount of mirth. "We are done taking it slow then?"

 

John gave a smirk in return as he pumped Sherlock's cock a few times and made his lover moan. "I'm not adverse to taking you slowly later on."

 

This time Sherlock's moan wasn't filled with lust but with annoyance. "That was terrible. The idea behind it is great, but leave the puns out of the bedroom."

 

John laughed and pressed a lingering kiss to plush lips. "Seems like I have to use my mouth for something else."

 

"Not like this." Sherlock's words stopped John from moving down his lover's body to lie between his legs.

 

"What," he started to ask when a nudge against his thighs gave him the answer and he obliged by straddling Sherlock's chest. Strong hands drew him a little backwards and nudged him up until John was certain that his arse was close to pressing into Sherlock's face. Not that he minded in the least.

 

"I am clean by the way." Sherlock informed him just as John leaned forward to take him in his mouth. "Mycroft got me tested when I came back from my mission and I know you are clean as well."

 

The shame that he hadn't inquired about this himself as a doctor- and informed his partner of his own status- was short lived as John decided to focus on other things. Namely teasing the head of Sherlock's cock with his tongue and gathering a drop of pre-come before taking as much in his mouth as possible. It wasn't a lot. John hadn't given a blowjob since his army days but judging from the way Sherlock grabbed at his hips it was more than enough.

 

John gave an experimental suck and was rewarded with a stifled groan from behind. Good, he still knew how to do this. And he also still liked it a lot John realised as he alternated between bobbing his head up and down and sucking at the head of Sherlock's cock until he got another verbal confirmation of his skills.

 

John smirked around his lover's cock as it grew even thicker in his mouth before he groaned himself as Sherlock parted his cheeks and licked between them. John couldn't remember the last time someone had done this to him but he was immensely grateful that he had taken the time to scrub himself throughout last night. So he didn't need to worry about any possible mishaps and could just concentrate on the lust that Sherlock's skilled tongue caused.

 

It was hard, though to keep a rhythm while his lover licked between his arse cheeks and circled a little closer to his anus every time. The sensation of having his most private place pleasured like this and the anticipation of what was to come clouded John's mind with desire. When the tip of the tongue finally pressed against the ring of muscle all John could do was to hold Sherlock's cock in his mouth and keep his teeth covered. Hell but he had forgotten how mind blowing good it felt to have something press into him that wasn't one of his own fingers. And even better to know that it was his lover's tongue that was pushing partly into him. It brought a certain thrill of something dirty and forbidden with it and John just loved it. He also loved the way Sherlock's lips closed around the ring of muscle and sucked gently before he went back to licking long stripes between his cheeks once more.

 

If heaven existed John was definitely in it. Between the teasing of his hole and the cock in his mouth his own lust had skyrocketed and he almost believed he could come from these sensations alone. His own cock hung heavy and throbbing between his legs and John pressed down a little to rub it against Sherlock's chest. He groaned at the friction and spit dripped from the corner of his lips and ran down his lover's cock. John spread it over the whole of Sherlock's length with his hand and sucked on the head that was still in his mouth. It was at that point that Sherlock's tongue vanished from between his cheeks and was instead replaced by slick fingers.

 

John only had a second to wonder when Sherlock had retrieved the lube from his nightstand before the first finger pushed into him and all rational thoughts flew from his mind. He rocked back against Sherlock and forced his finger even deeper into him.

 

"There is no rush." Sherlock nipped playfully at his cheek and John hummed in reply. This earned him an involuntary thrust of his lover's hips and he almost choked on his cock. Almost... and it was well worth it as Sherlock sped things up afterwards and added first a second and then a third finger. It burned but not enough to diminish John's arousal.

 

Lube was running down between his arse cheeks, salvia was running down his lips and pre-come was dripping from his cock. John couldn't have asked for a better experience.

 

"Up!" The hoarse command sent a new thrill down John's spine.

 

He let go of Sherlock's cock and felt the fingers withdrawing from his arse before strong hands helped him to turn around. John braced himself on Sherlock's shoulders. Partly to better get into position and also to keep his balance as blood rushed from his head at the change in position.

 

"Wait."

 

John groaned in frustration at Sherlock's demand and raised an eyebrow when his lover reached between them to roll a condom onto his own cock. He spread some lube over it and then met John's gaze with a blush on his cheeks. "Not going to last long otherwise."

 

"God," John moaned as the implications of the words penetrated his clouded mind and his cock gave an insistent twitch between his legs. Without thought he leaned forward and captured Sherlock's lips in a sloppy kiss. If he was to look one second longer into Sherlock's heated eyes or at the color in his cheeks John would be the one to embarrass himself. Thankfully it took some fumbling and wriggling around before John felt the tip of Sherlock's cock press against his arse. Enough time to get himself back under control again before he sank down onto his lover.

 

It felt as good as he had hoped it would. There was some stretch and a slight burn but that was nothing that John hadn't expected. It certainly wasn't going to prevent him from enjoying the sensation of being filled.

 

John started with shallow movements at first while still kissing Sherlock until he felt they were both ready for more. He rose up on his knees and gazed down at his lover as he picked up his pace. It almost was John's undoing as his eyes fell on the place at Sherlock's chest from where their string rose to end at the same place on his own chest. God, but they really were together. After everything they had both gone through they were finally so close. Their bodies were joined. John pressed a trembling hand to his soulmate's chest and had to close his eyes for a second as he felt Sherlock's hand mimicking the movement.

 

"John."

 

There was a world of wonder in Sherlock's voice and when John opened his eyes to look at him, his gaze was also filled with awe. The moment stretched between them until their arousal turned it into something more passionate.

 

Sherlock raised his own legs and grabbed John's hips as John started to slam down on his lover. The indirect stimulation of his prostate made his nerve endings sing and John felt himself getting closer to the edge with every thrust. He only needed a little more... Just something... And then Sherlock pulled him down again. They panted into each other's mouths as Sherlock took over and thrust up into John and closed one hand around his cock at the same time. The combination of sensations - Sherlock's cock in him and his hand on him - pushed John faster towards his orgasm than he had thought possible.

 

"I am... going to..." John panted against swollen lips and groaned as Sherlock increased his pace even more.

 

"Oh... Yes!"

 

John couldn't say who of them was groaning louder as he toppled over the edge and came all over his lover's chest. Through the bliss that clouded his mind John felt Sherlock's movements stutter inside him and then still completely.

 

They stayed like this - panting and gasping - until John collapsed on top of Sherlock and cursed a second later when he was reminded where he had come only moments ago. A breathless chuckle sounded from below and John glared at Sherlock without much heat. 

 

"This should do."

 

"Hey!" John protested as Sherlock wiped the mess from both their chests with John's shirt.

 

"I don't know where mine is," his lover explained with a shrug and threw the soiled clothing to the ground.

 

"Of course, you don't." John slapped his lover's shoulder playfully before he rolled off him and to the side. 

 

He didn't check what Sherlock had done with the condom - and only hoped he wouldn't step on it - as he welcomed his lover in his arms a second later. Sherlock buried his nose in the crook of John's neck and slung an arm around him like he was a big teddy.

 

"So you like cuddling," John teased his lover lightly even as he closed his own arms around Sherlock and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

 

"Shut up!"

 

John laughed quietly but honored the request. He pressed another kiss to Sherlock's nose and felt his eyes fall shut as he cuddled up to his lover. There was a high chance that John - and probably also Sherlock - would have fallen asleep again if it hadn't been for the ringing of a phone.

 

"Lestrade."

 

"No," John protested as Sherlock wriggled free from his embrace and reached for his phone on the nightstand. If John had known that it was there, he would have pushed it down earlier.

 

"A case, John!"

 

He groaned at Sherlock's excited voice. There was no way that they were going back to cuddling when he sounded like this.

 

"Come on! It's a closed-room murder with no signs of entry. It's perfect."

 

John protested weakly as the covers were thrown back but sat up in bed nonetheless to watch Sherlock collect his clothes before he all but ran from the room.

 

"We are leaving in ten minutes," he called back towards the room and John accepted his fate.

 

As he stumbled towards the bathroom to get at least somewhat presentable John saw with utmost clarity how his life would play out from now on. Chasing after criminals, arguing about experiments in the kitchen and cuddling up in bed with Sherlock, this was the life that awaited him. And John didn't want to miss even a second of it.


End file.
